302
by AkumaPanda
Summary: Betrayal, regret, guilt and blame. How far would you go to protect the ones you loved? Would you let it change you? OCs
1. Prologue

**Why hello there! This is my first fanfiction so hopefully people will find it ok, I tried not to make it painful to read but I do like to torture people XD**

**I'd love some feedback so I can improve!**

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><p>Shuddering from the cold breeze Rossi pulled the collar of her jacket tighter. The worn leather didn't provide much warmth but it shielded her from the blunt chill of the wind and for that she was grateful. Stepping carefully she flinched each time her heels connected with the concrete; her plan was to sneak, be unnoticed. When she'd commandeered some clothing she hadn't had time to be fussy and in her haste had grabbed a pair of leather boots. They weren't comfortable, in fact she was having a hard time imagining how her toes had fit into the thin shoes, but she could live with the discomfort. It was something she'd become accustomed to. It was how noticeable they made her, how they clicked at every step that was unbearable. The noise cut through the silence like a knife but she kept walking, she could only move at night and she had a lot of ground to cover.<p>

Favouring the less trodden path Rossi had mostly stuck to the shadows, winding through the alleys with acute precision, analysing her surroundings and planning routes before she even had to think about it. Second guessing everything had been drilled into her mind and become second nature. She knew to read between the lines and if necessary get what she needed from people. If a person smiled and offered her a token of goodwill she'd discard it. Seeing the tightness around their eyes and the pull at the corners of their lips was enough to know anything given was a gesture of pity and accepting it felt like the sting of a slap across her face. She'd rather steal than be at the mercy of humans and their fake smiles.

Shaking her head she rubbed her eyes tiredly, silently retracing the mental path she'd laid earlier that day. Pausing at a map of the city had given her an opportunity to architect a route through the tall buildings of New York and with each step she repeated the random turns and twists in hushed whispers. She'd accounted for everything; getting lost, having to cross into the lit streets and even planned places where she could sleep safely if her way was blocked. What she hadn't planned on was running into company.

Beneath the dim glow of an old light; clinging to the brick wall by frayed wires, stood three men stirred by the echoing of her steps as she'd approached. For a moment she cursed her footwear knowing it would have been to her advantage to walk barefoot, but quickly shifted her full attention to the men before her. They were clearly thugs, torn clothing and skin littered with paint made that obvious and just like she feared they were bigger, likely stronger and carrying weapons. Taking a steadying breath Rossi shook the anxiety from her fingers; she couldn't afford to be nervous; one moment's hesitation could result in her untimely end and it wasn't an outcome she was going to welcome with open arms.

The men seemed to notice her change of demeanour; the slight panic replaced with a steely look, and stared her down; grins faltering slightly. They'd expected her to run, turn around and begin the chase, that's what they all did. But she didn't move. She stared back from beneath the fringe of her hat and waited. If they wanted to be goaded into a damsel in distress situation she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

The largest man took a step forward, scoffing at her bravado and pressed a fist into his hand. His knuckles popped at the strain, the noise eliciting no more than a flinch as he made his way closer and crouched to her height. His breath reeked of alcohol, the clouded look in his eyes telling her he'd unwittingly given her an advantage. At the very least it made him sluggish and rash, qualities she could take benefit from.

Carefully she watched as he moved; taking in every slight gesture and motion as he made his burly speech. The one she was supposed to be scared of. To admit she wasn't would be a lie, but fear was what he wanted, what people like him craved to inspire in their victims. If only for the cheap thrill and power trip it gave. He moved closer, his face almost touching hers as he choked out a drunken laugh. He'd jumped his fair share of women, the fragile creatures usually scuttled around like bugs with no direction and no hope. But this girl was different, what he could see of her face was shrouded with shadow, the faint curve of her mouth not showing fear or anger. Her breathing was even and her body was loose and he was going to correct that.

Rossi's silver orbs followed his every move, scanning his face for signs of intention and flicking to his wrists as he stretched them. He did exactly what she was expecting; what his mannerisms had told her, and moved to touch her, violate her and leave her beaten and broken in the gutter. And she took it as an opportunity.

Knowing her build was little to be desired and the likelihood of her overpowering the man was close to naught she did the next best thing and shoved the base of her palm into his nose. The sickening crunch made her stomach uneasy, she'd put enough force behind the strike to shatter bone and cartilage and the blood pouring through his fingers didn't help settle it. He fell back choking through the red fluid that dripped down his throat and neck as she readied herself for retaliation. The man's friends were horrified, immediately gripping their weapons tighter and lurching toward her. Apparently no one had fought back before.

In the few seconds she was spared in their shock Rossi had formed a plan, it wasn't a great one but she didn't have many options. She couldn't fight and had no training, but she was smart and could protect herself if she had to. Crouching slightly to allow her better agility she waited as the first man reached her. With an angry snarl he swung his arms in a large arch to bring a thick bat down upon her head, but he was equally clumsy if not as intoxicated as his friend and she took the moment of exposure to her advantage. Without a second thought she swung her leg up hard and fast between his. The man howled, immediately buckling and dropping to the floor with a small whimper. If she'd had time she'd have celebrated how good it felt putting them in their places but the third man had reached her and in the seconds it had taken her to grab a nearby trash can lid he'd already made a deep cut across her side. She hadn't even realised he'd been carrying a weapon, the thin switchblade having been tucked tightly in his sleeve.

Eyes narrowing at the pain Rossi heaved the metal plate into the man's head with a small shout, knocking him to the ground as she made her escape. In the back of her mind she hoped he'd landed on his knife, if he felt what she did then it would be enough to slow him down at least. Pressing a hand to her side she ran and evaluated the situation. She'd incapacitated her attackers for minutes at the most and out of her few options the best was to hide and hope they didn't find her.

Skidding around the side of a building she took a moment to catch her breath. The lack of light made the brief glance at her wound particularly unpleasant, the blood that had seeped through her clothes a dull black and she felt a wave of nausea at the sight. Blood wasn't her forte, she'd seen enough of it to last a life time and watching it pool across her clothes brought back unwanted memories she'd rather be left forgotten.

A small shudder ran through her limbs as the chill of the cold returned, the adrenaline disappearing from her body with a groan as the severity of the situation dawned on her. With a shaky breath she scanned the alley, eyes locking on a metal disk in the middle of the concrete. Moaning in displeasure Rossi decided that perhaps crawling through sewage was better than the alternatives and stumbled to the manhole cover. With more effort than it should have taken she heaved the metal plate open and descended into the tunnels beneath the city before replacing it and returning the sewers to darkness.

A few moments passed and no noise from above alerted her to the presence of the men in the alleyway. Luck had favoured her escape and had likely given them to good sense to realise getting their friend medical attention was a better idea than trailing her. The sudden wave of relief forced a sigh from her lips as she pressed her palm harder against her side, by now her hand was slick with blood and grimacing at how it stuck to her side she shambled further into the tunnel searching for a source of light. Tending to her wound was a bad idea in and of itself, her knowledge of anything medical in description was severely lacking and doing so in the dark was just tempting fate.

Slowly she made her way to a sliver of light across the damp wall. Stumbling she kicked her feet free of the encumber some boots and stretched her toes relishing the feel of the cool water while trying to keep her mind off of what might be floating within it. To her surprise the sewers were cleaner than she'd thought they'd be, the usual stench of sewage replaced by a damp musty smell of moss slowly making its way up the slick bricks. But despite the strong smell it wasn't enough to overpower the metallic scent as she peeled the leather jacket from her skin. Releasing the breath she'd been holding she assessed the damage, leaning against the wall for support as once again the sight sent a wave of unpleasantness through her skull.

The material of her jacket had brunted some of the force of the attack, but the dagger has still sunk deep. In the few moments of contact he'd managed to slice a thin line across her side between the soft plates on her stomach, any deeper and he'd likely have hit something important. Cursing at her misfortune she placed her hand back against the wound; fingering the pliant shell that was supposed to protect her abdomen. Funnily enough she found it didn't fulfil its role and time again had left her with bruises and cuts that should have been nothing. For what she was she wasn't normal; even though that was the last word she'd consider using in describing herself, but what she did have wasn't developed properly. Her plastron was soft and malleable and her shell hadn't formed; the scales where it should have been merely darker and tougher than the rest of her skin.

Peering down at her reflection in the water lining the sewer she grimaced slightly at the scales littering her forehead and surrounding her eyes. They were darker and shone a faint blue, highlighting the pale silver of her eyes but instead of admiring the faint beauty she pulled her hat down further and turned away. Slowly she made her way through the tunnel hand clasped firmly at her side in a meagre attempt to stop the blood flow, had she any sense she'd have used her jacket as a makeshift bandage but throwing it to the side had likely covered it in sewer water and using it as such would probably make things worse. So she continued.

She didn't know where she was going and her detour into the underside of the city had ruined her finely crafted route but she wasn't about to stop moving, walking in any direction was progress and as her pace slowed and dizziness swarmed through her mind she repeated it.

"Walking is progress…" She slurred, blinking at the brightness of the light that shone through grates in the roof and stumbling deeper into the sewers. Pausing Rossi rubbed her eyes, sticking her tongue out at how sticky her hand was. By now the blood had run down her side and coated the leg of her stolen jeans, added to the three fingered hand print now on her face she gathered she probably looked like walking death. The mental image amused her and with a garbled laugh she slipped on the wet stone and sat in mild confusion as she let the new found bruises sink in.

Furrowing her eye ridges the female turtle stood; hand bracing her against the wall leaving a fine print in red upon the pale stone. Skidding through the blood on her feet she continued ever slower through the tunnels, occasionally peering back at the spots of blood and footprints she'd left. It was getting harder to see and her limbs felt sluggish and heavy, her side stinging with a sharp pain. The dizziness from her apparent lack of blood sent her once more to the floor in a heap, mumbling a faint tune into her arm. She didn't get up; merely peered at her surroundings marvelling at the dome like area she'd stumbled upon. Beside her was a large pool, pipes from the walls pouring more water into its depths and several dark tunnels branched off from where she lay. In her mind she chose a route and with bleary eyes tried to follow the dark turns, her mind wandering but her body firmly in place. It didn't take long before she'd slipped into an empty and dreamless sleep.


	2. Follow the Red Trail

**Here we go, a real chapter :p **

**Thank you so much to Margui for reviewing, feedback is always welcome~**

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><p>If there was one word Michelangelo could use to describe the evening it would have to be 'boring'. On this particularly night on the rougher side of New York they hadn't run into a single thug, thief or dealer and despite the levity he should have felt for the unprecedented lack of work his fingers still itched for some excitement. Excursions from the lair were a nightly occurrence, being stuck in a confined space with 3 brothers; one with a particularly explosive temper, meant that they constantly rubbed each other the wrong way. Apparently meditating about a higher existence or tinkering with a particularly advanced truck warranted some privacy that the youngest turtle just wasn't willing to give.<p>

As a result they'd come to form a patrol from the rooftops, a vague vigilante effort to protect the citizens of the city while remaining unknown and unaccountable for the good they'd done. The eldest of their family claimed it was to make a difference; to hone their skills for when they were really needed, but personally he didn't care that much. He wanted to get out and have some fun, rescue a few damsels and return home victorious to regale stories to whoever would listen; regardless if they'd been there or not.

Tonight however had been a little different. Instead of their usual route Mikey's eldest brother had decided to use a buddy system, pairing them off and instructing them to stay in relative contact till they rendezvoused at the end of the night. A small attempt to increase their chances of training, but despite knowing it probably wouldn't do any good they'd gone their separate ways promising not to get into any trouble that might bite them in the ass later on. Fortunately he'd been paired with his level headed brother Donatello; the intelligent turtle least likely to turn around and smack in the head for a lewd comment or suggestion.

Of course he hadn't expected him to ditch him at the first opportunity he got. Eye ridges pulled together in thought he'd calmly suggested they split up, the orange banded turtle having stared at him in slight disbelief. Donny followed orders, he liked plans and schedules and the idea of him going against the infallible buddy system was an unanticipated surprise. He'd offered a vague explanation of course; that he needed to grab spare parts from the junk yard to facilitate repairs to a decimated toaster, the poor thing having seen the wrath of their good friend Casey. The man seemed to break something wherever he went. And with a small wave goodbye had leapt away to forage for resources, calling over his shoulder to use his shell cell if he got in trouble.

Well Michelangelo never got in trouble. If he could help it.

Currently he stood in the centre of a wide rooftop, the building being some derelict office on which he'd chosen to exercise his bravado. In a practiced motion he whipped the tightly wound nunchaku from his belt, snapping them open and spinning them with a speed that had taken years to master. In his mind he pictured an array of enemies, the furthest clasping a busty young girl in his arms and with a twirl of his weapons recited a cheesy heroic line before breaking into a flurry of kicks and strikes accented with the occasional 'hyah!'. His mental battle was perfect, every blow struck true and in no time he'd rescued the damsel and realised he'd only managed to kill ten minutes of his time. He didn't even get an imaginary kiss for his bravery.

He wasn't one for training, preferring to play games and read comics, and the small display of skill was likely the most effort he was going to put into his fighting skills till they returned to practice in the lair. Which meant once again he was at a loss for what to do. Groaning in displeasure he sat himself on the edge of the building and pulled his shell cell from his pouch. The small gadget beeped momentarily before a slightly panicked voice rang from the ear piece.

"Mikey, are you alright?" Donny sounded slightly perturbed, the turtle thinking his brother had probably gotten himself into more than he could handle but the faint smacking sound upon Mikey's reply assured him that his brother's worries were alleviated.

"I'm booored!" Donatello had literally face palmed, scanning his surroundings and accounting for the things he'd already collected. He knew the excitable turtle wasn't kept entertained easily and perhaps leaving him alone with nothing to occupy his attention hadn't been the greatest idea. But he needed materials they just didn't have and despite a lecture if Leonardo discovered he'd wandered off, the little detour would benefit everyone in the long run.

Sighing at the jaded huff over the phone Donny balanced the cell on his shoulder, unscrewing the mechanism of an interesting device he'd found. "I'll be done soon Mikey; you'll just have to be patient." Like he expected another groan met his ear as his brother tried to think of something to do in the next twenty minutes or so. He couldn't help but hide a grin.

"You'll survive."

Mikey pulled the cell from his ear and regarded the bright screen with disdain. He wanted to go home and stuff his face with some variety of unhealthy snacks before he collapsed on his bed into a sleep filled with comic book heroes and tales of death defying feats. The longer they stayed in the cold streets the less time he had to fulfil that pleasure when they got back. With a roll of his eyes he peered into the alley below, groaning more complaints to his brother. If he hadn't practically been hanging over the side of the building he probably wouldn't have noticed it but in the glimmer of a small light he noticed the shimmer of something out of place. The purple turtles justification for his complaints fell on deaf ears, he'd found something more interesting to occupy his time so shutting of his phone without so much as a goodbye he leapt from his place on the roof to the concrete below, righting himself as he skimmed the alley.

It was quiet, no signs of any human life, but the marks of a fight were clear enough. Scuff marks in the dirt, bent out of shape trash cans and the most obvious; pools of red liquid. Upon closer inspection Mikey confirmed his suspicions and crouched to examine the patch further. It was scantily distributed, momentum having sprayed it over a large area. If he had to guess he suspected a knife wound, it wasn't consistent with the regular signs of gang violence in this part of the city. Known groups tended to favour bludgeoning with bats or large chains; breaking people so they couldn't run away or defend themselves.

Frowning slightly he scanned the floor with his eyes, taking note of the specks of blood leading further into the backstreet and acknowledging the fact that it had been freshly spilled. No more than an hour ago at the most. He had half a mind to call his brothers to help investigate lest he run upon some murderer or dead body with no clue how to handle the situation, but it was all inconclusive. For all he knew it could have been the result of gang warfare, rivalling groups out for blood and taking it from the opposition on their turf. He hoped that was the case. It made their patrols a lot easier if they were getting rid of each other.

But there was a small feeling brewing in the back of his mind that he couldn't shake. If it wasn't some lowlife criminal and someone really did need help, he didn't think he could forgive himself if he simply walked away. So shaking his head and letting a grin spread across his face he followed the trail, mimicking actions he'd seen in detective movies and making a game of the situation. It was better than the dead seriousness his brothers would have adopted, when times were grim it made sense to want to try and salvage some feeling of humour lest you forget who you are.

Sticking to the shadows with a precaution engrained into his being the orange banded turtle followed the tracks of blood leading him through a staggered path to an off shooting within a back street. A small indent littered with debris from the derelict buildings and random items people had dumped for convenience. Slowly his light blue orbs honed in on a discoloured patch of the nearby wall, the lack of light in the area obscured his view, but he had a pretty good idea what it was. To add weight to his theory he fished his shell cell from his pouch and used the light it gave to examine the wall. Smudges of blood littered the bricks, more than was probably healthy at this point as the trail he'd followed hadn't been unsubstantial, and the way it smeared to the side meant whoever was bleeding hadn't died here, or at least had been moved by someone. The worrying part was how; as his mind put two and two together, the tracks led to a manhole cover in the centre of the concrete. If he hadn't been looking for it he probably wouldn't have noticed it; the dark cover masked by the shadows, but whoever had been here hadn't left the way they came. That only really left one option; he doubted they'd scaled the buildings.

So hoping it wasn't like it seemed and their wasn't a potential corpse floating around the sewers he made his way the large cover and once more used his phone to wash away the darkness. He wasn't sure whether he liked what he saw or not. The large plate was littered with hand prints, the person likely struggling to open it with the slickness of the blood, but at least whoever it was wasn't dead at this point. That meant they'd gotten away from whoever attacked them or at least gained a fair chance of hiding from them. What worried him was the size of the hand prints, putting his own large palm against one of them made it obvious how small and slender it was; definitely female. Which meant this was likely someone who had been attacked. And through the obvious worry for the safety of some defenceless girl he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in his gut, the one that greatened when he noticed the severe lack of fingers in the print. Either the blood from her fingers had been wiped away or there was another person running around New York with only 3. Mikey wasn't really sure which he was hoping for.

Standing from his crouch he pressed a small button on the side of his shell cell. The panic button Donny had installed on each of theirs in case of emergency, the one that would lead his brothers right to him. He could have called and alleviated any fears they were likely to have when they arrived but he felt they needed to see this for themselves and the quicker they got there the better. It wasn't a common occurrence to the see the light hearted turtle without a smile on his face, but over the years of running from hired gang members and ninja working under the banner of their sensei's mortal enemy he'd learned when it was time to get serious. And whether or not he was wrong he got the feeling this was one of those times.

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><p>It didn't take long for the turtles to reach Mikey's position; the severity that usually came with the use of the panic button had given them good reason to hurry. However upon seeing he was neither mortally wounded, missing andor worse, they were inclined to berate him; Raphael choosing instead to introduce him to his fist. If the others weren't present and serious explanations in order it was likely there would be chasing involved, bar the usual breaking of training equipment and shouts of dismay from Donny.

"What's going on Mikey?" Leo's voice was tense; from the way his eyes narrowed it was clear he didn't approve of his liberal use of their emergency system. On the way over he'd almost lost his footing on a particularly high roof for the simple fact he'd been imagining the worst case scenario, seeing him here now without a scratch (excluding the new bump on his head) tugged at his patience.

Grinning slightly sheepishly he gestured towards the dark alcove, hoping they'd come to the same conclusion as he had. "I found something you might want to see." His second eldest brother rolled his eyes and moved to hit him, his observations and opinions were rarely relevant and he expected this occasion to be no exception.

"If you've found another stray cat I'm gonna-" Donny's call cut him short, the shriek Mikey had been preparing caught in his throat. Raphael had been just about ready to smack him again.

"Guys!" Without sparing them a glance he waved them closer, pointing to the marks Mikey had been inspecting not minutes before. In their moment of banter he'd taken the opportunity to examine the discovery worthy of the panic button and come to a very similar conclusion.

"Mikey may have actually found something." Donny was much better equipped than Mikey had been and from a duffel bag slung over his shoulder he pulled a flashlight, the clinking of metal components drawing a small glare from his eldest brother. One the purple banded turtle chose to ignore. The bright light revealed more details than they'd been looking for, the smears of blood indeed resembling a handprint not dissimilar from their own. For a moment there was a silence between the brothers as the weight of the discovery sunk in. Raphael was the first to voice his scepticism.

"Is that… that can't be real, right? Just some trick of the light or something!" They were all thinking it, but the more they stared the more it sunk in how hard it would be to fake something like this. Mikey replied to his question in the most rational way he could muster.

"Three fingers Raph, three fingers!" He explained in a particularly raised voice, waggling said digits at his older brother before shrieking slightly as he dodged another heavy swing.

Moving away from the scuffle Leonardo regarded Donatello with a serious look. They'd seen other mutants before, natural ones they'd come to befriend who also sought shelter beneath the streets and the unnatural forced into a mutated state through a gross misuse of science. The fact that another might have crossed their paths wasn't such a ludicrous idea but it was one that the eldest turtle regarded with distaste. Other mutants meant trouble; they'd been uprooted from their home and hunted for what they were numerous times before and at the thought of it happening again a sense of foreboding grew in the back of his mind.

"Is this even possible?" Raphael asked, eye ridges drawn together in thought that it might actually be what it seemed. The Shredder was gone, he had been for years and the products of their little science projects and even the research had been destroyed by their own hands. Donny had told them numerous times before that genetic recombination to create a viable mutant was very close to impossible. The Shredder had had advanced technology at his fingertips to facilitate anything Stockman had created but no one else did, and that fact wasn't lost on them.

"Well... there are 6,840,507,003 other people on the planet...it's not impossible the same thing could have happened to someone else." He shrugged. The possibility was slim but he had to admit all the facts so far pointed to the same conclusion.

Leo frowned once more; they couldn't sit and do nothing. If a mutant was running around New York then at the very least they should know if only to be prepared. "Let's not jump to conclusions." Walking forward he pushed past his brothers and moved the metal plate with little effort eliciting a worried look from Mikey.

"We're not really going down there are we?" He bit his fingers in slight anxiety, if it was a mutant; which he highly expected it was, then it could be rabid, vicious or have a fondness for turtle flesh. Maybe even all 3. Glancing at his brothers provided him with an answer; they all regarded him with a deadpan look.

"C'mon fearless, it's your discovery." Grabbing him by the arm Raphael shoved him forward, smacking him when he made to make more excuses. From fear of more abuse Mikey obliged, jumping down into the dark tunnel below with wide eyes. The tunnel was dark, it was part of the sewers they never really journeyed through and peering back up through the light the presence of blood on the ladder rungs was unmistakable. One by one the others entered the sewer, Leo carefully replacing the manhole cover behind them and extinguishing the remaining light.

A moment of silence passed before Mikey shrieked claiming something had touched him and a loud smack echoed through the long tunnel.

"Ow!" He grasped at the back of his head, nursing his increasing wound count and pouting at his older brother. Not that it had any effect; he couldn't see any of them. Suspecting the reaction however Raphael replied with an amused grunt.

"Chuckle head."

The familiar clink of metal and the sudden presence of a blinding light alerted them that Donny had indeed rediscovered his flashlight. Roving it over the surface of the sewer they searched for more tracks, the tunnel proceeded in both directions and from the sheer amount of blood they'd already witnessed it was likely heading in the wrong direction might end their mutant problem. The light stopped on the wall next to them, a large smear pulling to one direction indicating their target had headed to the left; towards the part of the sewers they traversed regularly.

It made their job easier but the steely look on Leo's face never faltered. He wasn't looking forward to meeting this mutant. If they were injured they were likely either scared or angry, both of which neither led to anything good. The last angry mutant they'd encountered had nearly eaten them alive. A vague image of Leatherhead flashed through his mind, the intelligent alligator now being the very image of serenity and tried to reassure himself that it couldn't possibly be that bad. The handprints were small and feminine and between the four of them it was nothing they couldn't handle.

A scuffling sound followed by a splash pulled him from his train of thought, turning back Donny flashed the light upon his youngest brother. The blue eyed turtle lying face down in the water muttering something unintelligible through a stream of bubbles. The two younger turtles chuckled, one hiding it behind a small grunt and as Leo helped pull him to his feet he noticed the soaked object clasped in his brothers hand.

"Are those boots?" If he sounded slightly bewildered then it reflected his feelings perfectly. Discarded shoes weren't something they found regularly in the sewers and the fact that Mikey had managed to claim two was a feat in itself.

"Women's boots!" He corrected with a wiggle of his eye ridges and despite the amusing gesture the meaning behind his statement wasn't lost. At least their new found friend/enemy had had the good sense to disguise themselves on the surface, less chance of a mutant bounty hunter appearing on their doorstep in the future. Discarding the shoes they made their way through the tunnel, Donny leading with his flashlight as they searched for the source of the blood. A few minutes passed before they stumbled upon another item of clothing, a leather jacket worn from use and stained with blood around a large gash in the material. He'd been right at least, he'd guessed knife wound though the knowledge brought no comfort to the youngest turtle as they continued further through the sewer. As they walked the area became lighter, grates in the walls providing the glow of streetlights and rather morbidly Leo knew they had to be getting close.

They'd taken a moment to inspect the jacket they'd found, the large gash proving the tracks of blood that had slowly become vague footsteps were likely from a deep wound, and if the victim hadn't died of blood loss yet they were close. They couldn't have gotten much further, and rounding the next corner he found his suspicions had been correct. He wasn't sure what they'd been expecting to find but seeing a person lying in a large pool of their own blood was something no one had wanted to see. Donny being the most medically competent was the first to react, running to the girl's side and emptying his bag of metal shards and devices in search of the medical supplies he usually carried. It was only a small kit, nothing that could really help her but he could at least use the roll of bandages to help stop the bleeding till they could move her to the lair.

"Leo, could you help?" Upon request he kneeled by his brother and as instructed helped sit her up as he wrapped bandages tightly around her abdomen temporarily sealing the wound. In the few minutes it took the brothers got a good look at the small mutant, her size being the first thing they noticed. They weren't tall by any means, about a head shorter than the average human but the female was at least a head shorter than them; if not more. As he worked Donny muttered something about sexual dimorphism, a term Leo was sure he'd heard before but couldn't draw an understanding from. In his arms she was tiny, her limbs slender and almost weightless, her skin a few shades lighter than he imagined it should be and the scales around her eyes; the ones not smeared with blood, held a metallic shine of a deep blue.

Mikey and Raphael couldn't stop staring either. They were used to mutants, some of their greatest friends were of their disposition, but they'd never encountered a female mutant turtle before. They hadn't really known what to expect, but she was far different than they imagined. Michelangelo had pictured a well-endowed girl with a bouncy personality but her plastron was flat, the smooth plates covering her chest merely more rounded and smooth, littered with small nicks and cuts; from what he couldn't fathom. The others had had more reasonable expectations and had at least anticipated a shell, but she was lacking that key feature also. Leo attributed her light weight to the lack of a protective carapace though it was obvious from the definition of her bones that she hadn't eaten well for a while. If at all.

The most unpleasant part of the experience was the fact her entire side was soaked in blood, she'd been laying in it for a good few minutes and it had saturated through the torn jeans covering her legs. The thick blood now smearing onto his arms as he held her steady and the heavy metallic smell that stained her skin didn't make his job any more likeable. Her breathing was shallow and if he had to take a guess her pulse wasn't much stronger, from the haste in which his brother was dressing her wound he assumed he wasn't far from the truth.

The tense silence ended as Donny pronounced himself done, claiming the bandage would hold till he had access to better equipment. The gash on her side needed stitches and he refused to even touch it till they were in a more sterile environment, the last thing she needed after severe blood loss was an infection to finish her off.

His brother made to leave and carefully Leo stood, holding the girl securely to his plastron as her head lolled backwards and exposed the skin of her neck. He stopped. The breath nearly knocked from his lungs as he examined the discoloured flesh with wide eyes. He had scars, they all did. They were ninjas; it was an occupational hazard, but he'd never seen anything like this. Circling her neck was a large band of discoloured skin, the scales having formed smaller and lighter after an apparent injury the likes of which he couldn't even begin to imagine. There were several shades to the mending skin, an indication whatever had caused such an injury had been a common occurrence, likely the healing wound had been exposed to more trauma on several occasions. He'd never seen a scar like this; it was thick and ugly; her neck seeming raw and uncomfortable.

He shook his head and followed his brothers. Whatever had happened to this girl was something she'd have to explain herself and until he'd deemed it safe enough to have her as a guest in their home he'd watch her and wait. He wouldn't put his family at risk because she'd have a well prepared sob story.

The journey back to the layer was at a more hurried pace than Leo would have liked, he'd been trying not to jostle the girl he carried for fear of aggravating her wound further but Donny had insisted he move as fast as possible, that they didn't have time to waste. So he'd run and the girl had been taken from his arms the moment they'd arrived. It had all been chaos; Mikey had stood about not really knowing what to do, scuffing his feet on the floor at how dire the situation was. It was one of the rare times Leo had seen him look moderately worried and the quick flash of panic in his eyes as Donny called for him to help spoke worlds about the situation.

Raphael chose to exercise his emotions in a more primal style and immediately headed to the training equipment to beat a punching bag to within an inch of its life. The commotion had roused their father, the elderly rat leaving his room with an expectant look, a grim tone to his face as he regarded his blood stained son. He gave a small nod of understanding that Leo returned with a slight bow, lips set in a firm line, before returning to his room with a flick of his tail. Whatever had happened had clearly affected his sons deeply and seeing the almost tired look in his eldest's eyes had chosen to wait for an explanation when the situation had settled.

The calmness that Splinter radiated when faced with such a shocking picture left Leo's mind spinning. It was all that they didn't know that made what had happened so drastic and unsettling. Not an hour ago they were content in the knowledge that their world was fairly normal; for what it was, and everything had seemed to stop the moment they'd found her hand prints littering the sewer. But now she was here, badly wounded and whether she survived determined whether they attained the answers to their questions. Removing his mask and rubbing his eyes Leo sighed at the unexpected turn his day had taken. Glancing at the door to Donny's workshop he mentally counted all the possible ways this could be a trap, how it would draw him and his family from the relative safe existence they knew and potentially turn their world upside down. It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to lull them into a false sense of security then sprung a trap when they were unaware.

He was adamant that wasn't about to happen again and making his way to the bathroom to remove the dried blood caked to his arms made a silent promise to protect his family no matter what the cost.

* * *

><p>Donatello sat in his workshop by the makeshift cot he'd erected and peered at its inhabitant grimly. For the last few hours he'd been working on cleaning the large gash in his patient's side before stitching it closed and cleaning the rest of her body. He'd never been fond of needles, the fine instruments hard to grasp securely in his large fingers, but he'd managed it and at least now she wouldn't lose any more blood. Knowing Leo would likely want to get cleaned up he'd instead called Michelangelo to help him, the medical part he was capable of but removing her soiled clothing and washing her skin was something he couldn't do alone.<p>

Astonishingly he hadn't uttered a single lewd comment and in the almost suffocating silence he'd had the time to truly examine her, albeit with a faint blush tinting his cheeks. Her plastron now covered in white gauze had seen better days, working on her side his eyes had been drawn to numerous scores and notches across the smooth plates and on a whim he'd pressed his fingers to them gently. To his surprise he found they were much softer than his own and suddenly the sheer depth of her wound didn't seem so implausible anymore. Admittedly whoever had attacked her had attained a lucky shot, the gash stretching through the sensitive skin between each segment and leaving a substantial track through part of the supposed armour. And that wasn't even the most interesting part.

Washing her he'd noticed scars littered across her skin, the most extensive circling her neck and perhaps the most worrying littering her arms. They were needle scars, made from frequent injections centred on the crook of her elbow. At first he'd imagined substance abuse but the more he examined the more he came to doubt his own conclusion. The flesh on her wrists was mottled, likely from old scars that had long since healed similar in likeness to ones on her ankles, and suddenly it seemed like whoever this person was had been restrained for a significant period of time. Of course he had been second guessing himself till he noticed an unusual discolouration on her left wrist.

It was a tattoo, hidden beneath the damage to the fine scales of her skin. It was hard to make out, but straining through the bright light of his desk he'd at least determined what it was if not deciphered the finer details. It was a barcode. And suddenly it didn't seem like such a coincidence their newfound guest even existed.


End file.
